


Before You Go

by maggsam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:34:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggsam/pseuds/maggsam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Could you do smut where stiles and Malia have broken up already and Scott decides it's finally time for Lydia and Stiles to be together so he invite them over to hang out but actually he just locks them in a room until they figure out everything and then when they admit their feelings for each other it gets really hot and really heavy?"</p><p> </p><p>Written for Stydia-Fanfiction.tumblr.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before You Go

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Agape, by Bear's Den.

In retrospect, she should have surmised something was awry as soon as Scott opened the door.

“Heeeeeey,” he dragged out, eyes warm and dimples deepening. It wasn’t the smile that was suspicious. Scott McCall always looked like he’d just discovered a four leaf clover, or found out that Superman was real.   
_Though_ , Lydia thought, eyes narrowing at the drawn out vowels of his greeting _, he is the closest thing to Superman this town had ever seen_ .   
What was suspicious was the enthusiastic greeting, paired with a stretched out moment of silence as he just let her stand in the doorway.

Lydia raised her eyebrows, polished fingernails tapping investigatively on the leather strap of her backpack.

“....Hi?”

“You look really pretty!”

Lydia rolled her eyes but smiled good naturedly, muscling past his broad shoulders into the foyer.

“So, we’re studying chapter seventeen, right? Because I know Mrs. Finch said she’d draw questions from the previous lectures and everyone seems to be struggling with the idea of the Reverse Transcriptase and I made a few notes in the margins about--”

“I think I’m going to order some Chinese. Want Chinese? Do you even like Chinese? I love Chinese,” Scott interrupted, rubbing his hands together surreptitiously.  
For the second time since she arrived less than a minute ago, a pregnant paused loomed between them. Lydia tilted her head to the side, flaming curls falling over her shoulder. Scott was up to something.

Was he uncomfortable with her presence? It couldn’t really be her, right? She had come over before, just the two of them, to study for AP Biology exams. Granted...that had been before she was locked up at Eichen for _months_. Maybe he was nervous about her acclimation back to school. Maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on her.

“...I like Chinese…” she said finally, deciding to let him get away with his usual but unexpected antic, just this once.

“Awesome,” he exclaimed, clapping his palms together and rubbing them once more.

_Ok something is up. There is a whole lot of hand rubbing going on here._

Lydia nodded, throwing him a curious look before strutting into the kitchen and placing her backpack down on the table, their usual study spot. She was in the process of pulling out the fatty biology textbook when she heard a noise on the floor above.  
Scott whipped his head out from behind the open door of the refrigerator before shutting it with a violent slam.

“LYDIA,” he yelped, before clearing his throat. “I almost forgot! I left the takeout menu in my room, and also my biology book and school supplies and I actually happen to have a lot of school supplies like pens and notebook paper in addition to the textbook and then on top of carrying the menu I don’t think I’ll have enough hands, ha ha ha! I’ll be like an octopus, which by the way do you know an octopus is classified as a cephalopod mollusc, can you believe that? A _mollusc_! Did you know that?”

Lydia was openingly staring at him now like he had two heads.

She watched Scott glup before cooly responding, “Yeah. I knew that.”

“Uh, of course. Of course you did.”

“...Do you want me to accompany you to your room? Help you carry that heavy, burdensome takeout menu?”

“...Yes please.”

She capped her highlighter and stood, following him out of the kitchen and up to his bedroom.

“Ladies first,” he smiled, ushering her in before shutting the door with a slam.

Lydia jumped, turning to face him, a question falling from her lips, but he had closed the door behind her.

“Scott?” She asked, eyebrows at her hairline. She reached to wiggle the doorknob, but it didn’t even budge. He had locked her in.

She spun on her heel, taking in his room before her eyes fell on a figure in the corner.

Suddenly it all made sense. All his strange behavior. The weird conversation. The locked bedroom door.

“Hey,” Stiles said.

Lydia snapped her open jaw shut.

“Hey...Stiles.”

He was sitting on the corner of Scott’s bed, hunched over, elbows on his knees, looking up at her through raised brows and dark eyelashes.

“...When did you get here?”

“About five minutes before you did. Scott said to wait for him and he’d grab a menu so we could order takeout. But then I heard your car pull up.”

Lydia arched a brow. “You heard my car?”

Stiles nodded, gaze falling to study her knees. “Your car makes a little whining noise when you put on the emergency brake.”

Truthfully, she never noticed. But apparently, he had.

“I kind of knew what he was doing then, and I called down to him, but then you both came up and here we are.”

 _So that’s what the noise in the kitchen was_.

Lydia huffed, flipping her hair and crossing her arms.

“Well, are you planning on studying with us?”

Stiles looked up then, the corner of his lips quirking.

“I don’t think Scott invited you over to study, Lydia. He didn’t tell me you were coming, he obviously didn’t tell you I was coming, and now he’s locked us in his bedroom.”

“Is this normal Scott McCall behavior?” She said, toeing one heeled foot in front of the other as she began to pace his room.  “Did you do this when you guys had your regular sleepovers? Mountain Dew, Call of Duty, porn and then imprisonment?”

“Something like that.”

Lydia huffed a laugh, walking to the bedroom window overlooking Scott’s backyard. There was an empty tire swing attached to the branch of a strong oak tree, growing in the center of the grassy yard. For some unknown reason, it made something inside Lydia ache, splintering harshly in her chest.

“You look good.”

She turned to face Stiles over her shoulder.

“I haven’t been wearing mascara for months. My eyelashes are thanking me.”

“You know what I mean.”

There was something in the way his voice rasped desperately, in the way his long sleeved shirt pulled against the planes of his shoulders that made Lydia look away.

She hoped he didn’t notice the angry flush of blood currently flooding the apples of her fair cheeks.

“Lydia…”

“Don’t,” she said sharply. “I’m not changing my mind.”

 

* * *

 

 

_The coldness is inescapable. Lydia hugs her arms tighter to her chest, shaking so violently her knees actually knock together. Around her, Stiles is moving moving moving, throwing items out of his drawers, out of his closet onto the bed in the center of his room. He’s muttering something that sounds sharp and despairing, and completely, manically unhinged._

_And then he’s back to her, brushing her wet hair from her forehead, calling out her name, begging for her eyes to focus on him, please Lydia please please. She raises her arms slightly and he takes the hint, pushing her soaked robe from her small shoulders._

_And then comes the shirt. His hands are warm when he drags them across her body. Lydia sucks in a breath when her bare skin meets the still air of his bedroom, and then, warm and red, his Beacon Hills Lacrosse sweater is pulled down over her torso._

_He tucks his thumbs under the elastic band of her sweatpants, pushing into the soft bone of her hip._

_He gently places a single fingertip on her knee, asking without speaking, for her to lift her legs and step out of the dirty, cold garment. She complies, and steps once more into a larger piece of warm, clean clothing that doesn’t belong to her, or Eichen._

_She’s no longer cold, but the shaking doesn’t stop._

_Stiles takes a second to study her again before returning to throwing objects on his bed. And then, in a final flourish, he wheels out a suitcase from the back of his closet and begins piling in the clothing._

_It’s the suitcase that finally makes her tune in and catch what he’s saying._

_“....Dad’s car. It’s about seventy miles to the next big town. Catch your breath there. I’ll call Stanford, see if we can transfer you to the East Coast. They have your DNA but they can’t legally use it without issuing a permit to--”_

_“Stiles,” she says, and somehow it comes out sounding all wrong._

_“--Changing your number is next. Maybe you can mail a letter to your mother, explaining, but we can’t afford to include a return address that could trace you--”_

_“Stiles,”_

_“--The key is to move. Get as far from here as possible, don’t stop just keep going--”_

_And then she starts to cry._

_That’s what makes him pause._

_She hasn’t cried. Not since Allison._  
  
_Not even in Eichen, when her head was blindingly hot and sticky. Not even when she spent night after night alone and unmoving, kept company only by the sorrowful wailing and howling of the supernatural prisoners. Not when Valack had been captured by Theo and his pack of chimeras._  
 _Not even when Stiles had cradled her head in his hands and assured her over and over that he was finally, absolutely, real real real._

_“I’m not going,” she says thickly, but firmly._

_His coiled shoulders drop, mouth parting._

_“We’re leaving. Now. We’re getting the_ **_fuck_ ** _out of Beacon Hills.”_

_“Scott--”_

_“Scott can handle this, the pack is back together now, but you’re not safe, we need to move--”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“--If we want to have a few hours to get a head start--”_

_“Stiles.”_

_“--The car is running right now, we won’t have to worry about--”_

_“Stiles, please--”_

_“I CAN’T LOSE YOU!”_

_It comes out as practically a scream, hoarse and choking and violent._ _His neck pulses, red and angry. Lydia realizes she’s now not the only one crying._

 _“I CAN’T FUCKING LOSE YOU, OKAY?! DON’T MAKE ME DO IT AGAIN. DON’T MAKE ME BE WITHOUT YOU. I CAN’T DO IT. NOT EVEN FOR ANOTHER_ **_FUCKING_ ** _MINUTE,” Stiles shakes and throws the suitcase down viciously._

 _“WE ARE_ **_LEAVING_ ** _, LYDIA. YOU WERE COMMITTED AND ABUSED AND TORTURED AND IT’S TOO MUCH. IT’S TOO FUCKING MUCH.”_

 _And then he breaks._  
  
_Lydia watches him crumple, watches him fold in half with his head in his hands and his breath stuttering in his throat._

_“I’m not leaving. I’m so, so sorry. I’m not leaving.”_

_She says it as soothingly as she can, even as Stiles is unraveling right in front of her and she’s following closely behind._

_She repeats it again, so he knows she means it._

_He just shakes his head over and over and over._

 

* * *

 

He’s not broken now. At least, not that she can see on the outside. But Lydia has always been prone to examination and close study, and she is well aware of how the most ordinary things function chaotically beneath the surface.

“...I really could go for some Chinese right now,” Stiles said with a sigh, and Lydia actually laughed, despite the fact that they hadn’t breathed a word for hours now. Lydia stopped pounding for Scott to open the door forty-five minutes ago.  

“I could go for some Chicken Lo Mein.”

“Nuh-uh. Moo Shu Pork.”

“Fried Rice.”

Stiles groaned, flopping backwards onto Scott’s bed, rubbing his flat stomach. His shirt rode up, exposing the dark trail of hair that disappears into the low fabric of his jeans.

Lydia pointedly examines her manicure.

“I just don’t know what he’s thinking.”

Stiles snorted through his nose. “Uh. Let’s see. His best friends haven’t spoken to each other for over a month and he’s a heroic little shit with a complex about fix everything.”

Lydia looked up again, and this time his eyes are on her.

“I’ve needed you.”

She watched him swallow.

“I know.”

“I needed you, Stiles.”

He rolled onto his forearms, resting his weight. “Do you think it was easy for me? Letting you go? Watching you after all you’ve been through?”

“Do you think it was easy for me, going through it?” She snapped.

Stiles’ mouth closed but his brows remained furrowed.

“You panicked, that night, Stiles.”

Stiles studied her, eyes bright and jaw clenched. “Lydia, I panicked every night.”

Something in Lydia’s stomach takes root. She feels it hold on, digging in tight.  
  
Stiles Stilinski, restless, desperate.  Never knowing she hallucinated him over and over again.  
She hallucinated him rescuing her about a half a dozen ways, and pictured him being the one holding her captive at least a dozen. But the hallucination that kept her as sane as she could possibly be, was the one in which he gave her what she wanted the most in this entire world:  His company, his attentiveness.  
  
Stiles, laying by her side and listening to her and stroking her hair and understanding her. _Knowing_ her. The very marrow of her soul.  
Paying attention, listening, remembering. Just as no one ever had, but just as he _always_ had.

Stiles Stilinski, _getting_ her.

Lydia thinks about what it all meant. She thinks about when Stiles was void, when he too was a prisoner inside his own mind. All at once, it occurred to her that again, he was the only one who could comprehend how overwhelmingly terrifying it was.

The best part of herself, the part that made her who she was, was wiped out. And he had to witness it, just as she had to witness his self-destruction. They had both imploded. They had both experienced it.  
They were two sides of the same coin.

 

She made her way over to the bed, toeing off her heels and lying down on her side to face him. Stiles looked at her, eyes bright and burning and searching.

And then his mouth was on hers, and her fingers were cold on his warm jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into her mouth. “I shouldn’t have asked that of you, I’m sorry.”

He moved his hand down her spine, pushing the arch of her lower back to his hips. Lydia was consumed by the knowledge that this was actually happening. That this was tangible and actual. This wasn’t a fever dream, or the result of heavy prescription drugs, or magic.  
It was flesh and bone, Stiles Stilinski. Warm and cracked open.

She arched her back and he mouthed at her neck, hot and wet.

“You know,” she rasped, “I can think of a way to get back at Scott for locking us up in his room.”

Stiles panted a laugh into her skin, before trailing a large hand over her breast and giving it a squeeze.

“Oh, can you now?”

Lydia licked her lips and nodded. Stiles moved down her body to rest between her parted legs with a lascivious smile.  
And then he gave her a lick, mouthing at the delicate lace at the apex her thighs. Lydia allowed herself to close her eyes, hands reaching out and squeezing the bed sheets beneath her fingers.

Lydia sucked in a breath as his lithe fingers pushed aside the soaked fabric, and his tongue met her hot center.

“Fuck, Lyds,” he breathed. “Fuck you taste so good. Wanna make you feel good.”  
  
“You do, Stiles,” she keened, and he paused, looking up at her, mouth wet and open. “You do make me feel good.”

She trailed her hand down to meet him, and he pushed a hand up to meet hers.

They locked their fingers together.

Lydia felt the rooted feeling in her stomach begin to bloom.

 

* * *

 

 

Thirty minutes later, Scott wails a floor below, “OH _COME ON_!!!”

**Author's Note:**

> redstringbanshee.tumblr.com xx


End file.
